


Angus McDonald and the Case of the Missing Memories

by mageofmind (renegadeartist)



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Hand Wavey Magic, Mysteries, With a LOT of headcanons, hopefully canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/mageofmind
Summary: “During the Reclaimers’ most recent mission they were sent out to retrieve the Oculus from the city of Rockport. There were some complications during the mission, one of which involved the Reclaimers revealing to a young man by the name of Angus McDonald – in their words, Boy Detective – the existence of the Relics and the Bureau. Now, as you know, this in it of itself is not a problem, thanks to the Voidfish, but from the report the captain of the Neverwinter Militia sent me, I believe he may try to dig up information that is better left alone. I want you to make sure he doesn’t find anything too incriminating, or too dangerous, but, above all, I want you to make sure he stays safe.”





	1. This Kid Doesn't Know When to Stop

**Author's Note:**

> So this was spawned from my love of Angus McDonald and the fact that I haven't seen much about his recruitment to the Bureau besides what's explained in the actual show. So, now there's this. I have no idea how long this is going to be, and how fast I update this is kind of dependent on the feedback I get because I'm a goblin that lives off of positive reinforcement. Feel free to call me out for any inaccuracies or just plain bad writing. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

Despite the fact that Neverwinter was a large city news tended to travel quickly. A new bakery opening up in the more populous parts of the city wasn’t particularly interesting, but because of the attentiveness of the Neverwinter Militia there wasn’t much crime and a new mayor had taken up the mantel of the city a few months ago and had proven to be a stuffy, boring old man. Because of this and a few facts that varied between citizen, things like new businesses opening and the birthday of a 100-year-old human woman and a strange anomaly in their maps where a town named Phandolin was printed in a place no town had ever existed were the things that were commonly passed between gossipers.

That is, until the train.

Quickly, attention was diverted from blank missing persons posters to a train that had disappeared. There were three names that were circulated: Jess, Percy, and Angus. The heroes of Neverwinter who stopped a train from killing hundreds of people. Of course, like most news stories, certain facts were swept under the rug. Among these was a monocle and a group of adventurers, both of which were ignored in all newspapers and tabloids, and only spread through word of mouth.

Angus McDonald, Boy Detective, currently sitting in the Neverwinter Militia’s headquarters, found this slightly suspicious and worth looking into if he ever got the time. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem like it would happen any time soon, especially since he had been sitting in this office for what felt like fifteen hours but, since he was a ten-year-old boy with a low attention span, was probably only an hour at most.

The office, like most things in Neverwinter, was modestly decorated, but he was pretty sure almost everything in the office was worth more than his grandpa’s silverware set. He figured that the Neverwinter Militia Captain deserved only the best. Still, though, he wasn’t sure what the point of a highly detailed painting of their planet’s two moons was. Maybe the Captain was just really into astronomy.

Suddenly, the door behind him slammed open, and a large man dressed up in a bright blue greatcoat decorated with golden medals stomped his way to his desk and slammed down a huge stack of papers onto the polished oak surface. Angus knew what an aggravated adult looked like when he saw one, and his stomach dropped to his knees.

“So,” the Captain said, his voice deep and low and angry. “You’re the one Rockport hired to catch their serial killer, then?”

Angus gulped. “Y-yes, sir. My name is- “

“Angus McDonald, yes, I know.” The Captain sunk into his chair and maintained piercing eye contact with Angus that he found slightly unnerving. “I’m Captain Bramford, and you’ve caused me a lot of problems.”

“A-ah, yes, well, I’m sorry about that, sir- “

The Captain held up a hand and Angus’s mouth snapped shut. The deep frown on Captain Bramford’s face seemed to deepen even further. “I read your report, and, frankly, I find it ridiculous. An artifact that’s dangerous enough to destroy a train that, somehow, no one knows anything about because of some… magical interference?” The Captain scoffed and shook his head. “And three adventurers committing identity theft for the greater good? I don’t care what their motivations were, that’s still a crime and if they ever set their feet in my city again I’ll arrest them on the spot!”

“Uh… sir, they were just trying to help,” Angus squeaked, not entirely sure what had spurred on the Captain’s rant in the first place. He really just wanted to leave, but it seemed that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Plus, it would be rude if he left without being excused.

“Like I said! I don’t care what their motivations were! We are missing an entire train! One of the best in all of Faerûn! And now I have to deal with a whole train’s worth of people who want a refund! We have a strict no refund policy, but there’s always going to be those people who argue, and who has to deal with it?”

“The people who sell the tickets?” Angus suggested, but quickly withered at the glare that was sent his way. Rhetorical question. Right.

“I’m going to have to deal with it, because I am the face of Neverwinter, I’m the one who’s shouldered the burden of this entire city!”

“I thought that was supposed to be the mayor?” Angus whispered, and he thanked the gods that the Captain didn’t seem to hear him.

“What has this country come to? Disappearing trains? Dangerous artifacts? Missing people that no one can remember?”

The Captain went on and on, nitpicking everything that was, in his opinion, wrong with Faerûn. Angus quickly tuned him out, but before he did he registered something that piqued his interest. Missing people that no one could remember. Huh.

A grin spread across his face. One mystery solved and another one showing itself so soon after.

“-And that’s just in the past few years!” the Captain was standing, gesticulating wildly. His face had seemed to flush a deep red and Angus bit his tongue to stop himself from interrupting the older man’s tirade with a reminder to breathe.

There was a knock at the door, and a light voice said, “Captain Bramford, there are more people waiting for you that were involved in the Rockport Limited’s disappearance. They’re getting impatient.”

The Captain blinked in surprise, frozen and, strangely, a little sheepish. He cleared his throat and seemed to lose a fraction of his anger from before. “Right. Sorry. Tell them I’ll see them in a few more minutes!”

“Yes, sir,” the voice said, and there was the sound of heels on wood slowly getting farther away.

“Right,” the Captain said, and turned his attention back to Angus. “Where were we again?”

“You were yelling about how people can’t just ‘do their gods damned job,’ and, ‘learn some fucking self-control and not go crashing trains or glassing cities,’” Angus helpfully supplied.

“Ah, right. Well, I think you get the point,” the Captain waved his hand dismissively. “Was there a particular reason why you’re here?”

Angus bit the inside of his cheek and hoped he didn’t look as annoyed as he felt. “Your men asked me to come here to talk to you. If anything, I should be the one asking you that question.”

“Ah. Yes, quite,” the Captain said, and cleared his throat. “Mr. McDonald, on the behalf of all the people of Neverwinter, I formally thank you for your actions in the death of the Rockport Slayer, the removal of the threat of the runaway Rockport Limited, and the copious amounts of paperwork you’ve saddled me with.”

Angus got the feeling that the last part wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he said, “Thank you, sir. I’m just doing my job.”

The Captain nodded, and Angus could have sworn he saw something pass over the Captain’s face. If he didn’t know any better, he might have said that the Captain looked… impressed. “You’re an incredibly bright and mature young man, and rest assured, you will be paid for your work today, but I feel that I have an obligation to warn you about something.”

Angus tilted his head slightly. “And what’s that, sir?”

Captain Bramford walked around the desk and towered over where Angus was still sitting in the oversized chair. “Those men – whoever they were – on the train. Magnus, Merle, and Taako.”

“What about them, sir?” Angus asked, his stomach fluttering for one reason or another.

“They’re dangerous.” The fluttering stopped.

“Well, I know that, sir. Excluding Jenkins, they were almost entirely at fault for the train’s fate. Not to mention very powerful in their own rights and frankly a threat to national security.”

The Captain’s face didn’t change. He just gave Angus a hard stare. “I don’t want you trying to investigate them. Now, I don’t know who they are, but something tells me it won’t end well for anyone, especially not a young boy like you. Don’t try to make this some kind of game or fun mystery. I don’t want to find out you were killed by some rogue spell or dangerous monster or killer criminal because you went looking into things you shouldn’t have. You may be smart, but you’re still just a kid.”

Angus frowned. He didn’t like the patronizing tone the Captain was using. He didn’t like it when adults tried to tell him what he could and couldn’t do. He didn’t like when people lied to his face or kept something from him that could circumvent a lot of confusion or heartbreak later on. He said, “Of course, sir,” but knew that Captain Bramford didn’t believe him.

The Captain gave him another hard look. Angus stared back.

Captain Bramford sighed. “I couldn’t get you to drop this even if I paid you, could I?”

“No, sir,” Angus said.

He nodded. “Right. Well, I tried my best,” he seemed to say to no one, before he walked briskly over to the door of his office and reached out a hand to pull it open. His sleeve fell down his arm a fraction of an inch, and something gleamed underneath it. “Anyways, good talk. Hopefully your next investigation doesn’t result in a disappearing train.”

“No, sir. I think that was just a one-time thing.”

“Right, yeah.” The Captain awkwardly cleared his throat and motioned to the open doorway. “You’re dismissed, er, that is, if you don’t have anything else to report.”

Angus tore his eyes away from the bracer on the Captain’s arm and said, “No, sir. Thank you for your time.”

* * *

 

Almost as soon as he was alone in his study, a stone around the Captain’s neck glowed.

“I think you might have scared that poor boy,” a woman’s voice said.

Bramford scoffed. “I doubt it. If his report is to be believed, he saw a beheaded and behanded body and didn’t even flinch.”

The woman hummed. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean a huge man such as yourself yelling as loud as possible at him isn’t more terrifying than a dead body.”

Bramford huffed and crossed his arms. He knew he looked like a petulant child and silently thanked the gods that stones of farspeech didn’t have any visual components.

There was silence for a few seconds before the woman spoke again.

“How much should we worry about that little boy?”

Bramford considered that. “Probably a lot. He’s got a bit of a reputation down here, even if some people think he’s just a lucky kid. I don’t think he’s going to stop until he makes it to your office and talks to you face to face.”

“What are you suggesting?” the woman asked.

“Well,” Bramford hummed, and a small smile started to form on his face. “If you can’t beat them, then why not hire them?”

“Because he is a child!” the woman shouted, and Bramford had the feeling that he might have crossed a line. But, then, there was a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. The Bureau could use sharp minds like his. And with our recent string of successes in hunting down the Relics… I’ll think about it.”

“Maybe those new Reclaimers could take care of him,” he suggested offhandedly. Angus seemed strangely attached to them. Bramford wondered why.

There was a sharp bark of laughter from his stone of farspeech. “You’ve obviously never met them. They can barely take care of themselves half the time.”

“And yet you’ve saddled the future of your organization on their shoulders.”

There was silence.

Then, “I’ll ask Killian to watch over the boy. Tell her to keep him away from the Bureau.” Another pause. “I… have a bad feeling about this.”

“You and me both, Lucrecia.”

“Call me that again, and I will personally rip your head off your body and systematically destroy any evidence of your existence, starting with anyone’s memory of you and ending with personal items and family records.” Then, the stone’s glow switched off with a soft click and Bramford was left in silence.

There was a knock at his door and his secretary said, “Sir, are you ready to talk to the next one yet?”

Bramford sighed and made sure his sleeve was pulled up over his bracer. “Yes, send them in.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the copious amounts of ocs in this chapter. Hopefully they aren't completely insufferable. Also, thanks to everyone who commented/bookmarked/kudo'd this story! I really appreciate all of you!

The old McDonald house was a relic of old wood and peeling paint nestled in the middle of Neverwinter’s historical district, among the famous mayors and noteworthy generals that Angus had read about in his books.

Angus always likened it to an adventure, walking through the overhanging trees and squares with delicately carved statues and ornamental gravestones. The past was an exciting place, full of things that were still a mystery to even the oldest elf or the most read historian. There were wars and armies and people that changed the world, and he hoped one day he would be remembered.

Or… if he wasn’t, then that was fine, too. Most of the people he read about were noteworthy because of some sort of tragedy in their life, or a trial by fire that left them well equipped to deal with the future.

He supposed that, maybe, he’d already been through some kind of trial, but he couldn’t think of what it would be. There was an itching in the back of his head, almost like static, and he couldn’t push through it. His stomach roiled and he felt dizzy whenever he tried to pry into it, so for the most part he just didn’t think about it.

It was one of the few things that he couldn’t solve, and it made his stomach feel sick in a completely different way.

Usually, the people that hired him to solve a mystery doubted his ability, despite his reputation, and, sure, by the end of it they accepted that he was better at what he did then most adults, but there was always the initial doubt that stuck with him.

It was so prevalent that Angus had started to doubt himself, just a little bit.

But he did his job and that was all that mattered. He caught… well, he didn’t exactly catch the Rockport Slayer, but there was no way Rockport would have to worry about Jenkins again. It wasn’t like people could just come back from the dead, not even in the world they lived in, full of magic and mystery just waiting to be solved.

The bag of gold pieces the Neverwinter Militia had given him as payment jingled a bit as he walked, his nose in a book but his eyes flickering around him. He didn’t know why he felt so skittish, but he did.

There were a few people that passed by, mostly in a hurry to get someplace or another. They all looked normal, like they belonged, and Angus found himself wishing he could look like that despite himself.

Sure, he was the World’s Greatest Detective, but if anything, that kept him apart from everyone. It made it hard to make friends his age. His peers thought he was weird, and adults thought he was strange, with his big words and even bigger mind. He didn’t really… fit anywhere, and he’d accepted that long ago, but it still ate at him occasionally.

He shook himself out of those kinds of thoughts and focused on walking. He was almost at his grandpa’s house, and when he got there he could start working on his newest mystery.

That is… if he figured out where to start.

* * *

 

“A kid?” Killian asked incredulously, and she felt like she couldn’t fit the extent of her disbelief in her voice if she tried. “For real?”

The Bureau made questionable choices all the time, most of them for the greater good, others to make things easier in the long run. They had erased an entire portion of history from the memory of the general populous. They had scooped up the memory of towns and people and families, and it left a sour taste in Killian’s mouth sometimes, but it was all for the greater good.

The Director’s face didn’t change, though it rarely ever did, and Killian suddenly and strongly regretted calling her authority into question. “Yes. For real.”

“Um… ok,” she said, and she liked to think that she was a loyal member of the Bureau, that she put her faith in the Director and trusted that she would lead them all to success. The Bureau did questionable things, the Director made questionable choices, and usually Killian would go along with it because she believed in the Director. This, however, was a little too much to go on blind faith alone. “May I ask… why?”

The Director considered that. Her hands tucked themselves under her chin and her elbows balanced on her desk. “I suppose it’s only fair,” she settled on, her voices as full of gravitas as it ever was. “During the Reclaimers’ most recent mission-“ here, Killian rolled her eyes. Things always seemed to lead back to those three. “-yes, quite, but during the mission they were sent out to retrieve the Oculus from the city of Rockport. There were some complications during the mission, one of which involved the Reclaimers revealing to a young man by the name of Angus McDonald – in their words, Boy Detective – the exitance of the Relics and the Bureau. Now, as you know, this in it of itself is not a problem, thanks to the Voidfish, but from the report the captain of the Neverwinter Militia sent me, I believe he may try to dig up information that is better left alone. I want you to make sure he doesn’t find anything too incriminating, or too dangerous, but, above all, I want you to make sure he stays safe.”

Killian blinked and processed everything she’d just heard. Angus McDonald. Huh. She was fairly certain she had heard that name before. Regardless, she said, “Right. Yeah, I can do that,” because keeping people safe was her job, and keeping a young… however-old-he-was boy shouldn’t be that hard.

The Director’s lips tilted into something that might have been a smile and she nodded at Killian. “Thank you. I will send you as complete a report as we currently have on the young McDonald, and you will meet with Avi as soon as possible.”

Killian nodded and turned on her heel, heading back to her quarters to prepare.

* * *

 

He couldn’t quite describe how he felt, walking the familiar roads back to his grandpa’s house, but if he was hard pressed he might call it a disconnect, a feeling that things weren’t exactly real, even though he knew they were.

He’d been on tough missions before, intense missions that challenged his ability to defend himself as much as his ability to think his way out of tough situations. Every time, he’d had this same feeling, like something so familiar and peaceful could exist after jumping out of a moving train.

The first time had been after one of his first jobs. He had been hired on by the Rockport City Council – the city itself seemed to have no shortage of trouble, or killers, or bank robbers – to track down a piece of art that had been stolen from one of their more prestigious museums.

The piece had been called the Chalice, and as Angus had stared at it, hidden between wooden boxes of straw full of precious artifacts all shoved in an abandoned warehouse, he had gotten the strange feeling that there should be more to the painting than that, like he should know something more. He hadn’t had the chance to chase that thought, though, because shortly after he had uncovered it the art thief – appropriately named the Collector by the local militia – had attacked him.

He’d gotten out alive, obviously, but not without a nasty injury to his side that even Rockport’s best clerics couldn’t get to heal completely. He was left with a jagged scar that looked like it hurt way more than it had at the time.

After that, though, he’d started carrying a small crossbow close enough to reach almost wherever he went. He kept a small knife tucked away in his belt, too. Just in case.

He practiced with them almost daily, and when he couldn’t practice he read about the theory behind using them as weapons. He liked to think he was proficient with them, but there was only so far he could go on books alone, and he doubted anyone in the city would be willing to tutor a ten-year-old boy on using a crossbow.

Usually, his familiarity with his weapons was a boon during his investigations. It meant that he could protect himself if need be, and that he could appear threatening if the situation called for it. Surprisingly, a crossbow made people take you more seriously.

However, sometimes it was more of an annoyance than anything, like, for instance, when he was walking through Neverwinter and his first instinct after being hit in the head by a ball was to reach for his knife.

A rushed, high, “Sorry!” made him stop.

Angus’s eyes followed the brightly colored ball as it bounced lightly across the grass of a nearby square before they landed on a little girl – around his age, poorer than average family, cut knees, half elf – and he tried to think of what a normal kid would say, and came up empty. He settled on, “It’s ok. I’m sure you didn’t mean to send a ball hurtling at my head at full velocity.”

“Um,” the little girl said, blinking in surprise. “Right. Those were some… big words you used just then.”

Angus felt his face flush and his eyes darted down to the ground so he wouldn’t have to keep staring at the little girl. “S-sorry,” he squeaked, and wondered why he couldn’t just be normal for once.

“It’s ok,” the girl smiled, and Angus was pretty sure that she was older than him, especially considering she was a half elf. “I’m-“

“Wendy!” another young voice yelled, and somewhere to their left two human boys and a human girl who was younger then even Angus appeared, all with varying degrees of annoyance on their faces. Angus wasn’t quite sure who just talked, but if he had to guess he would say it was the red-haired boy who had a face covered in almost as many freckles as Angus’s.

“Did ya get the ball back?” the other little boy asked, this one with dark hair and a few missing teeth. His breeches, though, were remarkably clean.

The girl – Wendy – seemed unimpressed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I did, _Sebastian_.”

“Who’s he?” the red headed boy asked, jabbing a finger in Angus’s direction.

There was a beat of silence before Angus realized they were all staring at him, waiting for an answer. He felt his face flush red, and he almost couldn’t say, “A-Angus McDonald,” through the embarrassment clawing its way up his throat. “W-what are your names?”

The red haired boy seemed to take initiative in the introductions, and said, quickly, “I’m Roan, this is Seb,” here, he motioned to the black haired boy, “Wendy,” who was now holding the ball that had just hit Angus in the head, “And Sarah,” the fourth member of their party, who had yet to say anything, but was hiding behind a patchwork blanket. “Are you related to that old fart that got sick a few days ago?”

Angus felt the blood drain from his face. “W-what?”

“Yeah,” Seb said, and his grin wasn’t exactly nice, and Angus got the feeling he was the kind of boy who enjoyed the suffering of others just a little too much. He’d met many adults like that, but he always found it was a much more unsettling look on kids. “I heard he’d probably gonna die – and soon, too. The clerics around here don’t know what happened. He was fine one second, doing whatever it is that weird, dying old men do in their spare time, then the next thing you know he’s bedridden and can barely hold down anything he eats.”

“Oh,” Angus said faintly. Sure, he had known, in the most distant, abstract way that his grandpa was dying, but hearing it like this – he wanted to throw up on the sidewalk. His grandpa couldn’t – he was all – he would be –

“Hey,” Wendy said gently, but his stomach was still roiling and his heart was beating way too fast, and there was static in his head that wasn’t letting him remember something _important_ , and suddenly there was a hand on his arm and he fought the urge to flinch away, and instead focused on it and tried to drag himself back into reality. “Are you ok?”

“Y-yeah,” Angus forced out, and he hoped he didn’t sound like he was lying, because his grandpa said it was rude to lie. “I-I’m fine. J-Just- I have to- to go,” he said, and took off running toward his grandpa’s house, his breath coming up in short gasps while his eyes burned.

He didn’t know why he was reacting so strongly to this – he knew his grandpa was old, he knew he had a very limited time left on this plane, but he’d never been _sick_ before, and that terrified Angus.

He didn’t look back, because he knew the group of kids – of friends – probably thought he was a weirdo.

He didn’t stop running until he was at the old McDonald house, and Angus barely registered the willow trees draping their leaves all over the porch, the familiar garden not as well kept as it could be (though much better than what Jenkin’s garden probably looked like right about now), the old rocking chairs that creaked if you so much as touched him. He was too focused on making it to the front door, and in his hurry, he ended up knocking so hard his knuckles hurt.

He quickly wiped his eyes in a shoddy attempt to look at least a little presentable, though he knew it was a lost cause. He probably looked like a wreck and whoever opened the door was going to judge him and-

A half elf woman he didn’t recognize opened the door, and the first thing Angus noticed about her was that she was wearing a flour covered apron.

“Oh! Hello,” she said, and her voice was strangely soft, and it reminded him of Magnus, if Magnus was a half elf woman that wore makeup more impeccable than Taako’s and looked like she could tear down an entire building with nothing but her words. Her smile was kind, though, and her aura comforting. “You must be Angus.”

“Y-yes, ma’am. I, uh, just got back in the city, you, uh, m-might have heard what happened?” Angus said, and his voice was terribly shaky, and he wanted to stop talking, but if this half elf woman wanted to continue then he would have to, because staying silent would be rude.

The half elf woman’s eyebrows drew together and Angus could tell that she was trying to figure out what he meant. It didn’t take long for her eyes to widen and she suddenly looked leagues more concerned. “Oh! Yes, I heard about the train, you poor thing! Come inside, come inside,” she beckoned, and Angus followed on instinct, though he wiped his feet on the welcome mat first, of course.

The woman kept chattering as he toed off his shoes and carefully set them by the door, and Angus didn’t really mind. It made for nice background noise. “It must be hard, being as young as you are, doing what you do. Oh! And I haven’t even introduced myself, how rude! I’m Larissa Hildegard. Your grandfather hired me on as his new maid, since, well…” here, she stopped, and bit her lip.

Angus chose to look anywhere but her face, because he felt hot pinpricks in the corners of his eyes. His gaze bounced between the paintings of his grandpa in his prime to the swords and weapons his grandpa has used and earned in his days in Neverwinter’s militia. He said, “I know he’s sick,” and he didn’t like the feeling of finality those words left him.

“Oh,” she said, and she seemed relieved that she didn’t have to break the news to him, but at the same time she looked overwhelmingly concerned. “Honey, are you alright?”

“I’m f-fine,” Angus forced out, and his voice definitely didn’t waver, and there wasn’t a wet feeling dripping down his cheeks because he was the World’s Greatest Detective and he didn’t cry.

Ms. Hildegard looked like she wanted to protest, to insist that he wasn’t fine and that it was alright to cry, but instead she said, “I’m almost done baking some cookies, if you’d like some?”

Angus sniffed and nodded. Ms. Hildegard bent down and wiped a few stray tears off his face before grabbing his right hand gently and leading him into the kitchen. It was remarkably clean, especially considering the state of her apron, but Angus didn’t think too much about that.

There was a small dining room table tucked into the corner, and Angus sat down at it, fiddling with the strap of his bag and staring at the grain of the wood.

Ms. Hildegard was bustling about the kitchen, pulling open cabinets and pulling out something every so often, and Angus was convinced she was just doing that to look busy. He didn’t have the energy to tell her that it was fine, she didn’t have to coddle him or anything. He was ten years old. He could take care of himself.

Soon enough, though, she started to ramble, which seemed to be her default response to silence. “I understand this is a hard time for you. It’s hard for everyone. Well… actually, I won’t say that, because that takes away from the validity of your emotions, and I want to make it very clear that you’re allowed to cry as much as you need to. You’re a young boy and repressing everything is incredibly unhealthy.” She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ll get along great with my daughter – she’s a bit older than you are, but I think you can handle that. Oh, and before I forget, you grandfather is asleep right now, but you can visit him when he wakes up.”

Angus furrowed his brow as he tried to unpack the barrage of words that had just been sent his way. He latched onto one thing and ran with it. “Are you… married?”

Ms. (Mrs.?) Hildegard let out a startled laugh. “Oh heavens no, I’m not. And I don’t particularly plan on ever marrying, to be quite honest.” Angus nodded along. He could understand that.

Angus wiped away the last vestiges of his tears and thanked the gods that he’d stopped crying. He felt a little awkward, breaking down in front of Ms. Hildegard like that.

Suddenly, a, “Hey! Mama!” rang through the house, and Ms. Hildegard frowned.

She turned toward the door of the kitchen where… a little half elf girl was standing, dirt on her face and a bright smile displayed where all the world could see it. “Wendy, how many times do I have to tell you not to yell?” Ms. Hildegard scolded gently. Angus wasn’t entirely sure how to take this new development.

“Oh. Right, sorry, mama,” Wendy looked down at her feet for a brief moment, before her head snapped up again and she continued on, almost as loudly as before. “Are the cookies done? Seb and Roan and Sarah are all super hungry and- “

“Yes, yes, I have them right here,” Ms. Hildegard said, quickly scooping up some still cooling cookies she had placed on a cooling rack earlier before carefully placing them in a basket. “Please, lower your voice, Mr. McDonald is trying to sleep.”

“Right,” Wendy said, and her voice was almost a stage whisper. “Sorry, mama. Thanks so much for the cookies, though, they smell delicious.”

Ms. Hildegard smiled. “You’re welcome, Wendy. Remember, don’t stay out too long with your friends. You still have work to do.”

Wendy nodded, and was about to turn around, when her eyes locked with Angus’s, and she gasped. “It’s you!”

“Wendy!”

“Sorry, mama!” she said, then, in a whisper this time, “Sorry, mama.” Then, she turned her attention back to Angus and said, “I mean, of course it’s you, I don’t know where else you would have gone. Anyways, I’m sorry about what Seb said. He’s not… very good with people? I yelled at him, though, when you left.”

Ms. Hildegard was looking between Angus and her daughter in something that might have been bemused entertainment. “So I assume you two know each other, then?”

“Yep!” Wendy said brightly. “I hit him in the head with my ball!” At her mother’s withering look her head bent toward the floor and she muttered, “I said I was sorry.”

 “It’s ok,” Angus said, and he was glad his voice was more or less steady again. “I don’t mind. It hurt a lot less than jumping off a train.”

There was silence as Mrs. Hildegard and Wendy stared at him. He felt his face flush and he ducked his head, muttered, “Never mind, I’m going to go to my room, excuse me,” and was out of the kitchen as fast as his short legs could carry him.

* * *

 

Somewhere outside of the city, just as the sun was starting to set, a large glass ball hurtled across the sky and landed softly near the train tracks.


	3. Of Silverware Sets and Memories Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to cut this chapter in half because it got to be REALLY long so yeah expect another update sometime this week. Also, thanks again for everyone's support! Hopefully this chapter is at least halfway descent lmao

He woke suddenly and without ceremony to the sound of a train’s horn sounding in the distance and a small body that was shaking more than it had any right to.

He took a deep breath and attempted to press his knuckles against his eyes, only for them to be blocked by glass. He took his glasses off and scrubbed a hand down his face. He was fine. He was safe at his grandpa’s house. Everything was fine. He focused on the sound of someone puttering about the kitchen, of careful steps on the old wooden floorboards. He tried to map out the house in his head, but the cotton of sleep was making it difficult.

His room was still dark, but behind the heavy drapes he could just barely see light streaming in from outside.

He straightened up, and realized, rather belatedly, that he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Despite the blanket that someone had wrapped around him in his sleep, he was still trembling, despite every effort he made to calm his racing heart. He wrapped the blanket around himself tightly, and took a few deep breaths.

It was over, he was fine, and no one needed to know that this was not a new experience for the young detective. He was always left a bit shaken after an adventure gone south and he’d be fine in a few more days. The images would start to fade and the tremors would stop. (They would fade into nightmares that were amalgams of every bad thing that he should have never seen, and he’d stop shaking by the time he woke up.)

He slowly untangled himself from the blanket, and took a brief moment to scan the books open on his desk. History books, books on magical artifacts of all kinds, and a few of his favorite mystery novels. He felt just a little frustrated that he hadn’t found anything even remotely resembling the monocle, or anything like the bracers. He’d found a few things about spells and creatures that could alter memories, but none that could erase memories or make something impossible to comprehend.

But then, he supposed, if something like that existed, wouldn’t its first move be to erase all memories of itself?

There was a knock at his door, and he jumped more than he probably should have, especially since he was in his grandpa’s house, and no one here would hurt him.

He stumbled to his feet, knocking the chair back a bit, and let the blanket pool on the floor. He would pick it up later.

He quickly crossed the room to the door – everything in his grandpa’s house was just a little bigger than what he was used to, at his own home, but he supposed that his grandpa must have had a large family living with him at some point – and carefully cracked it open.

On the other side of the door was Wendy, who was twisting her nightdress in her hands nervously. Angus had only met her a day ago, but he could tell that she was not used to feeling nervous.

“Um…” she began, and she was clearly trying her best to plaster a smile on her face, but it kept slipping off. “Your grandpa wants to see you.”

Angus’s heart skipped a beat. “O-oh, right. I’ll- I’ll be out in a second, thank you,” he said quickly, and waited for Wendy to nod before he gently closed the door behind himself.

He took another deep breath, felt his ribs expand, and held it for a few seconds. Then, he blew all the air out slowly, and by the time his lungs were empty he felt like he was ready to face whatever the world was about to throw at him.

Quickly, he changed from his day-old clothes – he hadn’t changed into pajamas last night – to a fresh set that, admittedly, looked almost identical to what he had been wearing the day before. He gave his vest a quick tug to straighten it out.

With that done, he stepped toward the door, only to stop. He spun around and rushed to his bag that was sitting innocuously on the unused bed.

He quickly grabbed it and promptly dumped its contents onto the blankets. His Book of Interception tumbled out, as did his crossbow and a few extra bolts, his sleuthing tools, and…

He quickly snatched up three silver forks and gingerly wrapped them in a handkerchief before shoving them in his pocket. He desperately wished that Taako had been able to save more – and honestly Angus was certain he had – but as it was Taako and the others were gone, and he was left with a fraction of his grandpa’s silverware collection.

He took another deep breath as he left his room, the hallway stretching infinitely on either side.

“Hello,” Wendy said, and Angus almost jumped out of his skin. If Wendy noticed, she gave no indication. “I hope you slept well?”

“Y-yes,” Angus said, and tried to think of something appropriate to say. “The bed is very… big.” He winced.

“Well, yes, I guess it is,” Wendy laughed lightly, and Angus was glad that she wasn’t dwelling on how crushingly awkward he was being. Her smile faded a little and she asked, “You know where your grandpa’s room is, right?”

Angus nodded, but his eyes were trained on the floor. “Thanks for, uh, waking me up,” he said, and Wendy nodded and promptly left.

Angus started walking and was thankful that the house, though big, had a rather straightforward network of hallways. This, and the fact that his grandpa’s room had one of the biggest, ornate doors in the entire house, made it fairly easy to find, even if he hadn’t known beforehand where to look.

He carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was dim, with a few flames flickering in old hurricane lamps, and Angus was struck, not for the first time, how much of the room looked like a museum.

There were paintings of his grandpa in his youth, of him beaming as Angus’s father sat on his lap, barely five years old. There were heavy coats that bore the symbol of the Neverwinter Militia, and ones that had a symbol that Angus didn’t recognize. There were medals and swords and antiques and decades old books littered all throughout the room, and Angus wanted to take all of them down and read them, but he knew his grandpa would never allow it.

There was a large bed, shoved in a corner, and in between the sheets lay his grandpa, older than Angus had ever seen him.

Usually, he was full of energy, recounting stories of his youth, of his glory days, of Angus’s father as a child. He would smile and promise to take Angus to all sorts of events in Neverwinter, but he’d only feel well enough to fulfil half the promises he made. Now, though, he looked drained and tired and _old_.

A soft, “Angus?” floated through the cluttered room, and it sounded brittle.

“Hello, Grandpa!” he replied, trying to make his voice as bright and positive as possible as he walked over to the side of the bed. He had a feeling he may have fallen a bit short.

“My boy,” his grandpa smiled, and his eyes were nearly completely closed under white eyebrows. “You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”

Angus nodded. “Yep! A whole two inches. And I’ve gone on a few adventures, too.”

 “Ah, really? Your stuffy father lets you go on dangerous adventures?” he asked, and Angus giggled a little. It was an ongoing joke between them. How long would it take his father to come to his senses and stop letting Angus go on adventures? His grandpa made it abundantly clear that if that day ever came, Angus had a permanent place to stay in his house. Angus conveniently forgot to tell his grandpa that his father had become unable to care for him a long time ago.

His grandpa sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the pillows piled underneath him. "Ah, I remember my glory days," he mumbled. "Fighting against goblin bandits, saving towns, and-" here, he started to cough, a terrible rasping cough, and Angus quickly grabbed one of the handkerchiefs waiting on his side table and quickly handed it to his grandpa. He covered his mouth and it took too long for the coughing to die down. 

“Are you- are you alright, Grandpa?” Angus asked, and he knew the answer, but he refused to acknowledge the flecks of blood on the handkerchief or the exhaustion that was practically radiating from his grandpa’s body.

“Just- just fine, my boy. I’m just fine.” Angus didn’t believe that, not for a second, and he knew that his grandpa knew this, but they were both content to pretend. There was a flicker of something in his grandpa’s eyes, and he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have my silverware set, would you?”

Angus gulped and carefully withdrew the three forks from his pocket. “I- uh- there were some… complications during the journey and, well…” he trailed off, and his grandpa eyed the forks with something like sadness.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.” He closed his eyes and sighed.

“G-Grandpa?” Angus whispered, fearing that his grandpa had accidentally fallen asleep.

“So!” he said as a reply, “What about those adventures, then?”

Angus frowned and furrowed his brow, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he fixed a smile on his face that may have looked more like a grimace, and started regaling his grandpa with stories of murderers and thieves and runaway trains.

For the most part, his grandpa listened in silence, nodding along with the dips and inflections of Angus’s voice. It wasn’t until he was almost done with the story of the Rockport Limited that he spoke up again.

“What was the elf looking for?” he asked, and there was something strange to his voice, like he was asking a question that he already knew the answer to.

Angus rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “That’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure. There was some kind of… magical interference that kept the others from telling me… well, anything about it, really. It looked a little like a monocle, though. And it felt… weird.”

His grandpa started to cough again, and his hand snaked out to grip desperately on Angus's sleeve. His entire form shook with his coughs, and between breaths his grandpa choked out, "T-there were- were seven of them," and Angus didn't know why, but his blood ran cold. "We- we fought- but- they took so many-" and then, there was static, and Angus couldn't remember exactly what his grandpa had just said, but he knew he needed to know, and there was something here, bigger than himself, and where did his mother go- she had been so warm and alive but the fire- 

And, suddenly, the static in his head put an end to that train of thought, and he couldn’t quite remember what he had been thinking. He felt hot, frustrated tears well in his eyes, and he dug his fingernails into the meat of his left hand to keep from actually crying.

His grandpa was still shaking, though the coughing had subsided. “I’m- sorry, my boy,” he said quietly, almost a whisper, with barely any air in his lungs. “I think… I think I need to sleep some more. I’m getting on in years, you see. I’m not as young as I once was.”

“Yes, of course, Grandpa,” he said, even though he really didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be rude, though, so he forced himself to say, “Sleep well.”

Angus shifted and took one more look around the room covered in reminders of times long past, physical testaments to remind everyone that they happened, and nothing could change that. He placed the forks on his grandpa’s bedside table before leaving quietly.

He closed the door softly, but left his hand on the doorknob for a second, using the cold metal to ground him. He tried to breathe deeply, and he wondered why his heart was pounding so loudly.

Something was missing. He knew it was. Something had been ripped from… everyone, and Angus was desperate to figure out what it was, to solve this impossible mystery of people’s missing memories, because he knew that’s what it was, the static. It was keeping people from remembering something, something big, and Angus would find out what.

A sudden, “So, what’d he say?” shocked Angus out of his thoughts, and he didn’t quite manage to keep himself from jumping slightly and spinning around quickly. “Ah!” Wendy yelped, clearly surprised at Angus’s reaction. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“You didn’t- didn’t scare me,” Angus said, and it was painfully obvious that Wendy didn’t believe him.

“Sure, yeah,” Wendy said, rocking back on her heels a bit. Angus suddenly became painfully aware of his grandpa trying to sleep in the other room. “Soooo… what are you planning to do now? Since, y’know, you don’t have any jobs or whatever.”

Angus shrugged, and decided that delving into the details – or lack thereof – of his newest mystery wasn’t the best idea. “I guess I’ll just… do some research or… something.”

Wendy crossed her arms. “But that’s boring! Why don’t you come with me and Mama out to the market today? It’s Market Day, after all.”

From Angus’s familiarity with the strange holidays Neverwinter practiced, he knew that Market Day meant an unusual amount of wares would be sold, but that would also mean a drastic influx of people. Angus swallowed. “I, uh, I don’t know-“

“Aw, come on, please?” Wendy begged, and she even clasped her hands together. “I’ll be terribly bored if I go alone with Mama. Roan and Seb and Sarah are all off with their families and I don’t really… have any other friends.”

Angus gulped, and before he really knew what he was doing, he said, "Give me a few minutes to get ready." 

Wendy's face split in a wide grin and she let out an excited squeal. "Thank you! Thank you!" she gave Angus a sudden, quick hug, and he didn't know how to process it or how to respond to it, but it turned out to not matter because before he knew it Wendy was racing downstairs, presumably to give the news to her mother. 

Angus swallowed and straightened his vest, already regretting his decision. He walked quickly back to his room, running through a mental inventory of things to bring with him. His gold from the Rockport Limited, of course, and probably his crossbow…


	4. Information Gathering

Killian made it into Neverwinter with the expectation that finding the Boy Detective would be easy.

She kept that expectation close to her chest, and after a quick visit to the Neverwinter Milita headquarters, she felt better equipped to deal with the boy, should she run into him on the streets. Still, though, it was late, and she doubted he was wandering the city at this hour. She decided that, maybe, it would be fine to turn in for the night.

Her two sore feet helped sway her toward that idea, and she hauled herself to an inn somewhere near the market district of Neverwinter.

She entered the first inn she found and was met with the warm orange glow of various light enchantments and candles. The inn was small and sparsely decorated, but it was nice and cozy and clean. 

The woman behind the counter, a small Halfling with hair plaited in a long braid, took one look at Killian and her pleasant smile suddenly became strained. Killian sighed and wished she wasn't used to this kind of thing. 

"Hello," the Halfling woman said, and she sounded genuine, but her eyes betrayed how she actually felt. "How can I help you?"

Killian drew out a small bag full of gold pieces and slammed down more than a room would probably cost. "I need a room for a few nights. And food and a bath, and if that costs more that's fine."

The Halfling woman eyed the coins almost suspiciously for a moment before snatching them up and inspecting them. She set them down again and said, "A bath is a little extra, but there is a bar down the street that way," here, she pointed to her left. "You can buy a meal there." 

Killian nodded. She fished out a few more coins. "How's that?"

The Halfling woman's smile seemed a little more genuine now. "Ah, well, that's just fine." She scooped up the coins and slipped them somewhere behind the desk. She pulled out a key and handed it to Killian. "Just let me know when to have your bath drawn up. Enjoy your room."

"Thank you," Killian said genuinely, and shoved the key in her pocket before turning and heading toward the bar. It was time for some information gathering.

From Killian’s personal experience, reports were nice and all, but talking to locals and people that may actually know the Boy Detective were bound to be invaluable informants.

The bar was a loud place, but not as rowdy as some of the haunts she had visited on missions before. It was populated largely by humans, though she could see an array of other races interspersed here and there.

Thankfully, the volume didn't decrease as she stepped into the bar, and everyone seemed to be minding their own business. She hoped it stayed that way. 

She made her way to a bar seat, and it didn't take long for the bartender to notice her. She raised a finger and a tankard of ale was passed her way. She took a large gulp and figured that there was no time like the present and turned to whoever was sitting next to her. 

They were small, and an elf, and they looked remarkably angry.

Killian raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”

The small elf bristled and looked sharply at her. “I’m stuck in this garbage city for another week,” they said, and their voice was quick and just as angry as their expression made them seem. “A train disappears and suddenly there’s no, I don’t know, standby train or something. An emergency train, just in case one disappears! I paid good money to get out of this city, and now they’re telling me I have to wait!”

Killian hummed and took another gulp of her ale. "That sucks," she said blithely. 

"You're damn right it sucks," the elf grumbled. 

Killian let the silence linger for a few seconds before she picked up the conversation again. "Did you hear anything about what happened to that train? The one that disappeared?"

The elf grunted and shook their head. "Don't know jack shit. There's rumors going around, but I don't believe anything without evidence. A giant fire breathing crab? Please. Wouldn't it make more sense if it shot out water or something?" 

Killian honestly didn't know how to respond to that. She supposed she owed Carey a few gold pieces, though. Very few people at the Bureau believed the Reclaimers about the crab.

She briefly grasped at straws, trying to think of something to say that would keep the conversation alive. “Well, I heard something about a kid detective,” she said, and hoped she wasn’t being terribly transparent. “I think that’s a little harder to believe.”

The elf gave her a curious look. “You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.

Killian shrugged. “What gave it away?”

“Well,” the elf said, “For one, everyone around here knows about the McDonalds. The kid’s verified by almost every militia captain from here to the Sword Coast. And his grandfather is a local legend.”

“What’d his grandfather do? Was he a detective too or something?”

The elf seemed to think that was funny. “No, no, he was a soldier.”

Killian’s slight smile disappeared from her face. That wasn’t good. She didn’t have much experience with the lingering effects of the Voidfish, but from what some of the other members of the Bureau had reported, soldiers who had fought in the war were a bit touchy when it came to the Voidfish’s effects. It wasn’t really remembering, not really, but it was a strong sense that something was wrong, that something huge was missing. It was why most of the Bureau’s staff was made up of former soldiers.

“Oh,” she said, and took another sip of ale.

“Well… maybe not a soldier. I don’t know why I said that. He was a militiaman. One of the best, before he broke down and couldn’t work anymore.”

“Broke down?”

“Yeah, y’know, broke down. It happened to a lot of militiamen a few years ago. It was like…” the elf hummed a bit as they thought. “They were shell shocked. It was like they’d gone through a terrible war and couldn’t remember any of it. Does that make sense?”

Killian suddenly felt uncomfortable talking to this elf. They were a little too on the nose. “Yeah, no, sorry,” Killian shook her head.

“Yeah, you’re right. That doesn’t make any goddamned sense.” The elf shifted themself so that they were glumly staring at the wall again. Killian took that as her cue to leave.

She stood up, bringing her tankard with her, but one last offhand comment from the elf made her stop. “By the way, there’s a dude over in the corner who was apparently on the train.” They moved their hand in a vague motion toward the far left corner of the bar.

“Thanks,” Killian said, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the elf was some kind of secret Bureau member. Probably not, since they didn’t have a bracer. She figured fate or something liked to mess with her head.

She wandered over to the corner, and soon enough she could see who the elf had been talking about. He was a human, and if his trashy robes were anything to go by, he was also a wizard. He looked quite frazzled, if she was being honest with herself, but she couldn't see much of his face, as it was bent over a sizeable pile of paper. 

Killian pulled out a chair next to his and asked, "What happened to you?" in lieu of introducing herself.

The wizard glanced her way, and Killian wondered how he kept up a beard that big and if he would give her some pointers. He laughed a little and said, "Jumped off a train. You?"

Killian hummed. Maybe this would be easier than she thought. "Got shot out of a canon." 

He laughed again but it was bordering on awkward. It sounded more like an automatic response than anything.

Killian took another sip of her ale. “So I heard you were on that train. The one that disappeared.”

The wizard glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. I was. I’m P- I’m Graham, by the way. My name’s Graham.”

“Killian,” she introduced, and held out a hand. The wizard took it and left ink stains on her hand. She wondered how long he’d been sitting here in the dim bar light. “What are you writing?”

“Uh, it’s, uh, a report. Of what happened with the Rockport Limited. I’m, uh, hoping to get hired by them. I want to work on their trains. It’s kind of a- a lifelong goal of mine.”

“Oh. Sounds interesting. I could proofread it, if you need someone to.”

Graham glanced up at her, and this time it was more than a fleeting moment. He looked barely hopeful, but Killian got the impression that he was not very skilled at hiding his emotions, so all his hopes were displayed plainly on his face. “Really? That would be great, if you’re, uh, really willing to do it?”

Killian grinned and nodded. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

And suddenly a mountain of paper was being shoved her way, and Killian had to place her tankard on the table, carefully far away from any of the paper. The handwriting was scratchy and messy, and there were whole paragraphs that were crossed out, but Killian had suffered through the pages and pages of the Regulators’ reports (or what passed for reports with them), so she had faith that she could suffer through this.

It read more like a story than anything. It didn’t go into as much detail as Killian would have wanted, but she found herself getting sucked into the words despite herself. She found she was holding her breath as Magnus, Merle, and Taako fought a giant crab monster, and a little sick as Graham went into detail about the death of the conductor. She liked to think she was pretty hardened, but every so often something would breath through her walls and make her taste bile in her mouth.

Graham mentioned the boy, Angus McDonald, and described how intelligent and talented he was, about how he solved the mystery quickly, and how they managed to defeat Jenkins in the end.

Killian finished it, and glanced up at Graham, who was worrying his lower lip and looking at her expectantly.

“Have you ever considered a career in storytelling?” was the first thing she asked.

Graham seemed surprised. “W-what? No, no, I’m not… I’m not good at writing stories. I’m not- I don’t have a lot of creativity. Besides, I was just recounting what happened, it’s not like I made anything up.”

“Well, sure, but adventures are always looking for people to balance out their parties, and wizards are in high demand lately, at least from what I’ve heard.” Killian hoped it didn’t look like she was making that last part up. She supposed it would have to be true, since Taako had somehow weaseled his way into the other two Regulators’ party. “A few adventures and you’d probably have enough material for a whole series of books.”

Graham glanced down at the crumpled paper in his hands, his ink stained fingers, and then back at Killian.

“Maybe… maybe you’re right,” Graham muttered, and he seemed faintly surprised. “Adventuring wouldn’t be too bad. I’ll… I’ll keep it in mind if the railroad doesn’t hire me to work on their trains. A backup plan.”

Killian nodded and handed Graham back his papers. “I do have one question, though.”

Graham didn’t look up from his papers. “What is it?”

“What happened to the boy? Angus?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. He got pulled over by some members of the Neverwinter militia almost as soon as we got back. I haven’t heard from him or the others, and if I’m being honest I don’t really expect to.”

“Oh,” Killian said, and sighed. “Thanks for your time, Graham.”

“No problem,” he replied distractedly, and held up his hand in a wave.

Killian was already gone, trudging back to the inn to turn in for the night. She made sure to ask the Halfling woman to draw the bath, though, and spent her time wondering what her next move would be.

Visiting the Boy Detective in his own home seemed too straightforward, and vaguely threatening, if she was being honest. She didn’t want to stalk him, either, since he was just a little boy who in the grand scheme of things hadn’t really done anything wrong. In the end, she decided to spend the next day at the market, because apparently, there was some kind of celebration there that was a once in a lifetime experience. She supposed that, even if she didn’t manage to find Angus, it wouldn’t be the worst way to spend her day.


	5. Market Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry that this chapter took so long. I ended up intensely disliking it and that made it hard to finish and edit. Also, sorry for the accidental focus on some ocs in this chapter? I promise that it'll be the last one like this, and things will start really kicking off next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Angus found the market of Neverwinter huge and crowded and overwhelming even on a bad day. On Market Day, it was absolutely suffocating, with the people moving in all directions at all times, with the noises and voices and hawkers yelling about their wares. There were bards on almost every corner, playing music that was almost impossible to hear through the crowd. There were mazes of stalls and tents, and they were all full of wares, some common, some less so, some rare enough to have guards posted at either end of their stalls to keep away thieves.

Angus was not having a very good time.

He truly wished he could be anywhere else, but he had told Wendy that he would accompany her to the market, and so he would.

Ms. Hildegard walked a few feet in front of them, wielding a large basket in one hand, and a list of things to buy clenched tightly in her other hand. She was walking stiffly, and with a purpose, and Angus figured she was as uncomfortable as he was right now.

She glanced back at them and said, “If you have money, feel free to spent it, just stay close to me. Wendy, I don’t want you running off.”

“Yes, Mama,” Wendy chirped, looking like the picture of innocence. Angus didn’t believe it for a second. “Don’t worry, we won’t go far. Come on, Angus!”

“I- uh- a-alright,” Angus stuttered as an overenthusiastic Wendy began dragging him towards the nearby stalls, that sold everything from fresh flowers to an array of animals in cages. Ms. Hildegard was left to talk amicably to a teifling woman selling an array of fruits.

Wendy zeroed in on the stall selling animals, and Angus found himself standing among bird cages and sleeping dogs chained to posts. Wendy kneeled down next to a smaller cage, and tried to stick her fingers through the bars, cooing, “Oh! You’re a cutie aren’t you! You’re so pretty!”

Angus leaned forward to look into the cage, and frowned when he saw that the animal Wendy was currently attempting to pet was a small fox, curled up tight and growling.

Angus jumped when the vendor said, “Please keep your distance. Not all of my animals are pets. Nor do most of them like being touched.”

Angus quickly looked back at Wendy, and tried to ignore his face growing hot. He touched Wendy’s shoulder gently and tried to pry her away from the fox’s cage. She just kept cooing quietly at the fox, who was still growling. “Come on, Wendy. Please,” he urged. “We should get going. There are plenty of other stalls to visit.”

Wendy glanced back at Angus and frowned, but she slowly withdrew her hands. In a low voice that Angus almost didn’t catch, she whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

With that, she stood up abruptly, and linked her arm through Angus’s and began walking. Angus frowned, because there was a determined look on Wendy’s face, and an aura of anger radiating off of her. Angus could tell she was formulating some sort of plan. He just didn’t know what it was, or even why.

“Wendy,” Angus said, gently disentangling himself from her and following her closely. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t stop, and Angus hadn’t really expected her to. Her mouth was twisted, and her eyebrows drawn, and when she looked at Angus he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he was a little taller. “Didn’t you see those animals?” Wendy hissed, and Angus knew she wasn’t mad at him, that she was mad at the vendor, but he felt himself shrink back.

“I- uh, yeah, I did,” he said, and tried desperately to remember anything that would hint to why Wendy was reacting so strongly. He’d been distracted, by all the sounds and noises and _people,_ but he supposed the animals had looked a little scrawny…

“They were terrified!” she burst out, just as they made it to the stall where Ms. Hildegard was carefully examining various fruits and placing them in her basket. She glanced at Wendy, but didn’t say anything. “They looked like they hadn’t been washed or fed in a week! I doubt they’ve been out of those cages since they were put in there.”

Angus said nothing as Wendy continued her tirade, and Ms. Hildegard started walking deeper into the market. He realized, rather belatedly, that Wendy was absolutely right, the animals did look poorly cared for, and he was the world’s greatest detective so he should have noticed. But he hadn’t noticed anything, and he’d been the one to drag Wendy away.

Angus felt his face flush and his stomach tie itself in knots. He should have noticed, but he was too distracted by everything else, by the people and the noise, but that wasn’t an excuse. He should have noticed.

Angus worried his lip and asked, halfway hoping, “What are you going to do about it?”

Wendy’s rant cut off, and she looked at him. “I… don’t know yet,” she replied. “But I’m going to think of something, and when I do…” she trailed off and glared at the ground. Then, abruptly, she turned to face Angus, and smiled a strained smile, and said, “So! Where do you want to go next?”

Angus winced at the sudden emotional whiplash, but he quickly scanned the stalls, bouncing past various vendors. There was a woman selling blown glass flowers that seemed to chime in the wind, a tall half giant selling bread and pastries, and countless others that didn’t catch his eye. Finally, he pointed to a random stall and asked, “What about that one?”

“Looks interesting!” Wendy immediately replied, and promptly began dragging Angus toward it.

Angus found himself sidling up to a tall orc woman who was turning a small hand axe over in her hands, inspecting it closely. His eyes scanned over the wares, and it seemed like they were all various forms of magical goods, from weapons to rings to boots.

The vendor drifted over to them, a human man, looked them over, and raised an eyebrow. Angus didn't like it when adults gave him that look or anything like it, so he grabbed the bag of gold pieces he'd brought with him and shook it slightly. The vendor's eyebrow lowered and he grinned. "Well, when you put it like that," he said, and Angus got the feeling he might regret this.

The vendor looked like he was about to launch into a tirade about every single one of his magical artifacts, but Wendy held something in front of her and asked, “What’s this?”

“Ah! Excellent eye, miss,” the vendor said, and he snatched it from her hands. Angus couldn’t read the price tag dangling off of it, but it looked like a foot-long glass tube. "This is an interesting little tool I picked up on my travels along the Sword Coast. It is called a Chime of Opening, and, well, I supposed the name is enough hint."

Angus looked sharply at Wendy, who didn’t acknowledge him, or look the least bit guilty. “How much is it?”

“Three thousand gold pieces, miss,” the vendor said, and his smile was especially shark like. "I don't suppose your allowance is enough to cover it?"

Wendy looked at Angus, and there was a silent plea in her eyes, coupled with a strange kind of determination, like she wasn’t leaving until she got something to help with the plan she hadn’t yet figured out. She said, “Angus,” and it was almost pleading. He thought back to the cages, to that stall and its vendor, and with another moment of hesitation he handed over the money. He hoped Wendy didn’t get herself into trouble.

The vendor looked very pleased with himself as he scooped up the frankly ridiculous amount of gold he had just swindled off of two children. Angus hoped he was for real, and hadn’t just sold them some useless chime. Wendy slipped it into her pocket, and whispered, “Make sure my mom doesn’t ask any questions. I’ll be right back,” before she was gone.

Angus swallowed, and turned back to the array of magical items proudly on display, and tried to decide if he should just leave, or if he should stay for a while longer. Maybe buy something else. He still had plenty of money from the Rockport Limited.

He decided that he didn’t really need anything more and was about to leave the stall when a voice stopped him.

“You Angus McDonald?”

He blinked in surprise and turned back. The orc woman from before was staring at him. She’d dropped the hand axe in favor of some kind of stone that shimmered strangely in the light.

“I am, yes,” he said, and he tried to draw himself together enough to look halfway professional. “Can I help you?”

The orc woman stared at him, and Angus shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable. She carefully placed the stone she had been looking at back on the stall, and something silver glinted on her arm.

“I heard you were a detective. The world’s greatest.” She said it like it was a fact, like she was completely convinced this was true, which was something Angus wasn’t used to. She knew something, that much was certain and, if the bracer on her arm was any hint, he had a feeling he knew who told her about him.

"Well, I don't like to brag, because my grandpa says to never do that, but... yes, I am."

She took a step closer, and her eyes flickered to the vendor, who was trying very hard to look like he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. She glared at him, and he promptly moved farther away from them. “You’re smart,” the orc woman said, turning back to Angus, “And talented. But you’re also just a kid, and there are plenty of people who want to see you grow into an even more talented adult. If you want that as well, then I suggest you drop your… investigation and let the mystery go. I promise you that it’s unnecessary, and that there are plenty of… qualified individuals who are handling things just fine.”

Angus figured there was no need for secrecy, because it was obvious who this woman was talking about. “No offence, ma’am, but those three aren’t what I’d call qualified.”

The orc woman let out a startled bark of laughter. "You're quicker than I thought, kid," she said, not unkindly. "But... you'd be surprised. There are forces at work that are... dangerous. Incredibly so. And, believe it or not, those three are the only people in this entire realm that can handle them."

Angus kept his doubts to himself.

"I don't want to see you getting hurt because you went chasing something you shouldn't have," she continued gently. “And I know the chances of you actually dropping this is abysmal, but please. Just think about it.”

With that, she turned, and disappeared into the crowd, and the vendor focused his attention on attracting new customers.

Angus frowned deeply, and his brow furrowed. What that woman said... he knew he should be scared, or at the very least cautious, but... he wanted to know what those bracers were, that that monocle was, what the static was, even more now. He wondered if that was a testament to how interesting this mystery was, or how little self-preservation instinct he had. He figured it was probably a little bit of both.

Angus drifted back to Ms. Hildegard, who was haggling the price of a piece of pumice stone and a washcloth. Not as interesting as a chime that could unlock things, but he supposed not everything could be inherently steeped in magic and mystery.

She glanced over at him and frowned. "Angus, where is Wendy?"

Angus's eyes widened slightly, and he stuttered for a moment, before a voice came from next to him, saying, "I'm right here, mama!"

Ms. Hildegard frowned and seemed to know that not everything was as it seemed, but she didn't press. "Right. Wendy, hold this." Ms. Hildegard passed her a bag of stonefruit that had been sitting next to her on the ground. "I've gotten everything I need, so we can head back home."

"Alright, Mama!" Wendy chirped, and began walking dutifully in the approximate direction of the McDonald house.

If Ms. Hildegard thought that the overabundance of animals weaving through the streets was strange, she didn't say anything.


End file.
